You Like Me Too Much
by Just Lennison
Summary: One dreary night at Abbey Road Studio, John and George are the only Beatles there. Staying up light to finish writing the masterpiece that is 'You Like Me Too Much.' When feelings that George has been bottling up the past few weeks get provoked and just come out in a bundle of passion there are consequences. But maybe, they're not too bad afterall. Lennison.


You Like Me Too Much

by

_Just Lennison_

* * *

_January 6th, 1965_

_EMI Studios, Abby Road, London_

It was a chilly night; the sky looked like someone had dropped different shades of gray ink into a bowl of murky water. The clouds were swirling together, different colors clashing against each other to live amongst newer hues. The almost nonexistent moon shone through the billowing clouds, making a break in the wall of inaudible grief. It casted it's pale yellow brightness through the windows of the dank room, illuminating a pair of men. Reflecting off a head of honey auburn locks, who was bent in concentration, a chewed pencil dangling from his delicate lips. The other man leaned against his right shoulder and was gazing off idly into the shadows, blowing rich chocolate hair out of his vision every few seconds.

The feeble glow framed their bodies, giving them an eerie, yet serene blush. They were the only people in the studio; the vast room filled with endless amounts of equipment was silent. The only noises being the hushed breathing two accompanied by the soft, barely audible words they exchanged with each other. They were writing the soon-to-be masterpiece, "You Like Me Too Much."

George lifted his head off of John's shoulder, looking up at him and shaking his hair out of his eyes. He didn't move back to his spot after a few moments, he just sat and stared. A look of deep thought on his features while he studied the man that had been invading his dreams _and_ his mind these past few weeks. He didn't know what it was, this man, this John Lennon had somehow become the center of the universe to him, and he hadn't a clue as to why.

George leaned his tired head back on the taller man's shoulder, grateful that he didn't seem to mind.

"'Cause you like me too much and…and…" George didn't know what to add to this, not even noticing as John's eyes stared intently at him, looking like onyx marbles in the low-light. His mind was being invaded by the sweet and silky baritone voice that had haunted him since he was younger.

_Honey, I love you too much _

_Need your lovin' too much _

_Want the thrill of your touch..._

Reality crackled, sprayed and shifted back into place all around him as the voice of his childish fantasies were replaced by the voice of his current fantasies; John was saying something to him. George abruptly flew out of his daze, focusing on John's words and definitely _not_ on his lips.

"And I'll kill ye," added the older of the two, singing it out in tune. His voice filled the studio, weaving its ways through the furniture and equipment, before bouncing back to the duo and right into the aching heart of the other man.

George scowled at this,

"I'll kill ye? Christ, mate. Wha' goes on in that 'ead of yers?" George pondered, confusion laced into his scratchy voice as he fiddled with his coat sleeve. Not allowing himself to think too much about the vibrations he felt from John's diaphragm as he answered, his own head laid neatly in his lap. _When had that happened?_

"It works, doesn' i'? Yer sayin'; I love ye, bu' ye keep runnin' away. Now I'll make ye stay wi' me if i' kills ya."

George heaved a mighty sigh, deciding not to comment. After all, this _was_ John he was talking to. _John_ whom was also the man he had fallen irrecoverably in love with. John who was slowly leaning down closer and closer to George, crooking his hand and cupping it against his ear. Partially completed sheet music and empty pages strewn across the floor as he pressed his lips to the edge of his hand and opened his mouth to speak.

"John?"

"Y' hear, mate? Stay wit' me, an never leave." John's warm, quiet voice came out in little puffs against the shell of George's ear, making him shiver and fall apart at the seams. For the third time that night George had to clear his mind of John Lennon and stitch himself back together with what little dignity he had left.

"Ah, ge' on. Quit makin' an arse of yeself." George whispered sharply, sitting back up, trying to save himself from an embarrassing situation. With John one just _didn't know_ what might happen, and he wasn't going to take any chances.

John said nothing, just looked deeply into George's eyes for a few earth-shattering moments then breaking the contact. Urgently gathering his papers and setting them into a neat pile, acting like if he didn't something horrible might happen.

While doing so George's mind was quickly assaulted by the memory of John arriving back after his trip to Spain with Brian, their manager. He'd asked Paul about it, but Paul had merely gone pale and had quickly scurried away, leaving his question falling on deaf ears. He shivered again, thinking of _all the things_ that _they_ could have _done_ during those _12 days_ in Barcelona. Jealousy and rage bubbled at the pit of his stomach, but he pushed it down hastily.

George cleared his throat, "Ahem. Well, err…" Knowing he wasn't going to finish his sentence, he took a cigarette out of his pocket, lit it with shaking fingers and took a long awaited drag.

John saw this, his eyes flickering to George's mouth as he sighed, feeling the calming effects of the cigarette.

After a while John decided to have one as well, both stayed like this for many moments. Watching as the smoke from both lights fused, fought and tangled together in the air.

George put his cigarette out, having finally conjured up enough courage to actually _face_ John again. Blushing, he spoke warily,

"I ne'er would, y'know. Leave ya, tha' is."

It was like a fog, George noticed, _all _of this was. The smoke that still mingled in the air and hung around them, like a heavy hanging curtain of barely contained emotion… it was like the look that was in John's eyes whenever he caught George staring at him. Like the searing hot mist from the shower head that rode the air and seemed to suffocate George, almost arrogantly, as he would finally succumb to_ those_ thoughts of John, and _those _feelings of pleasure.

As George looked into John's eyes, _truly _looked into those chestnut orbs for the first time he saw what it was. It was the reflection of his heart; the lust, the love and the yearning – it was _all _there. Before he knew it one of them was leaning close, who? They never remembered, only remembering that the other followed suit, until their lips crashed together.

The kiss was filled with a hardly suppressed bundle of nerves, each trying to force their feelings of desire, passion and pure love for each other into one breath. It was a sweet and chaste kiss, both were testing the waters and enjoying this new sensation.

Eventually, they broke apart. Both faces were flushed and their harsh breathing echoed throughout the room.

"Good, 'cause if ye di', I'd kill ya."

It was interesting, to say the least-being kissed by a fellow band mate. Interesting, enjoyable and somehow _not_ confusing to George. He was the youngest of the lot and the probably most innocent, whereas John acted like a right child at times and was undoubtedly _not_ the innocent one of the foursome. Judging by that trick he had done with his tongue there wasn't even a _need_ to question that notion. George grinned joyfully, gazing at John with unmasked adoration.

"Well, tha' was…" George looked down at his hands, suddenly nervous at his inability to express his feelings.

"George?" John asked, his voice quivering in anticipation and a little worry, too.

"Tha' was pre'y damn grea',"

George hurriedly turned to John and continued his sentence, "bu', I'm no poof! Go' it?"

John returned the gaze, a harsh fire in his eyes which _wasn't_ the one that had been there a few minutes ago. "Wasn' t sayin' ye were, mate. Bu' I jus' proved a point fo' all bird-kind, 'cause ye, mate, are a lousy kisser!" He bit back, vehemently.

George stood up, now in an absolute rage, hurt beyond belief and shaking in fury.

How dare he? How _dare_ John Winston Lennon toy with _his_ emotions! He wasn't some floozy that John could just pick up off the street! H-he loved him; oh, no! He _wasn't_ going to just let John do that to him. No! _No one_ betrayed George Harold Harrison like that! George was going to show him _just who he was!_

"Now look 'ere, Lennon, I'm a damn grea' kisser, an' ye know i'!" George was seething; he was clenching and unclenching his hands, trying to soothe in his anger. He glared hotly at the other Beatle, blinking harshly.

John kept his cool, arrogant composure, folding his arms across his chest as he mimicked George's own glare. The effect was lost, however. As the only emotions in John's eyes were those of mischief and lust. John uttered only two, controlled words,

"Prove i'."

George's anger halted to a complete stop as he heard those words; 'prove it' said by the subject of his admiration. No, he wouldn't rush this. He was going to make this the sweetest and most endearing kiss John Lennon was to ever know. A kiss he _would_ remember.

George looked at John, leaning in ever so slowly. Suddenly determined, but still nervous, he had _been_ kissed before but he never _kissed_ before.

George leaned forward, forcing himself to be calm. He started drinking in every little detail of John, noticing how he licked those delicate lips of his in anticipation, _left to right_, _back and forth, slowly and sensually. _Making them glisten with a sheen George almost couldn't resist. He even saw how his nose twitched _once, twice_ as he got closer and brought his hand upwards toward John's face.

Bringing his thumb up and brushing it across John's right cheekbone, feeling the soft bristles of his 5'o clock shadow, George used his left hand and pushed down. Noting the harsh thumping of the beating heart below him with a triumphant grin, he slowly began lowering John gently to the floor, moving his hand farther back along the way and lightly tugging on John's silky mane, earning himself a low guttural moan from the back of his throat in response.

Spreading his legs out further, George was delighted when he felt John's bulge pressed up against his own as he lowered himself and applied light pressure before sitting, regretfully, back up. He smirked when he heard the hiss of disappointment coming from John's lips. Pulling off his own shirt he chucked it somewhere behind him, not caring where it landed.

"Shh.." George ushered, swiping his index finger roughly across the source of the hiss. Dancing his fingers over the tent of the elder's pants in apology and then moving them up to unbutton John's shirt.

"Tease!" John accused, his voice strained as he tried to reign in his self-control.

George's smirk grew larger, and the evident frustration of his band mate egged him on. Leaning back down George continued to unbutton the cotton shirt John was wearing, all the while licking and sucking a hot trail up his neck. George nibbled lightly at the smooth skin there, then nipped it harshly before blowing on it to sedate the burn. Hovering on top of John still, he made his way up even farther.

Once he was finally at his mouth George place a chaste kiss on those luscious lips, licking the bottom lips hotly before sucking it into his mouth. Tasting one of his crackers that John had inevitably stolen earlier in the evening as John gasped in surprise, taking full advantage George plunged his tongue deep within and explored the heated cavern. Both tongues fought for dominance before John finally decided to give up and just enjoy the feeling of George proving him wrong.

Running his fingers through John's hair, George tugged harshly. Smirking into the kiss as John moaned in both pleasure and pain, taking the chance to dive even deeper in the warm essence that was John. Dragging his hand down, George palmed John through his linens, his own moan rivaling John's as his buttocks were sqeezed in appreciation.

When the need for air became dire and George's vision had become cloudy he leaned back, both of them trying to get their oxygen levels back to normal. He looked onto those red, abused and swollen lips of John's and grinned in joy. But with the aching pulse in his _own_ trousers, George knew that he just couldn't end the night there.

_As _he brought the flesh of John's ear into his mouth, rolling it back and forth between his teeth, George inhaled deeply. John smelled of pennyroyal tea, and the lemon drops he always had stashed in his pockets. Accompanied by a scent you just couldn't describe as anything but _John_,he smelled absolutely _ravishing_.

Pulling harshly against John's ear, George popped off the last button and quickly ran both his hands from the bottom of his stomach to the very top. Stopping briefly at John's navel, he put two fingers in and daintily stretched it before continuing his climb back up the now quivering skin. George brushed his thumb across a pert nipple and brought forth his index finger and pinched it lightly, making it grow even _harder_, he noticed that a part of him was growing _painfully _harder too.

Leaning down he tugged chastely on John's bottom lip before standing up, muttering a rushed "I'll make it up to you," as he quickly pulled off his shoes and almost _tore_ off his pants. Throwing them across the room to go join his long forgotten shirt he soon lowered himself back down, smiling as he realized John has kicked off his own shoes while watching his demonstration. George sighed in both relief and content, as his member had much more room than before and because he now had his sweat-glistened lover below him again.

George puckered his lips and brought them down onto one of John's nipples, who moaned in satisfaction and arched into the touch. Meanwhile his hands made their way down, leaving behind a trail of tingling hot skin in their midst. Slowly descending down lower and lower along his sides, until he finally got to the waistband of John's trousers, he tucked his thumbs underneath. Running his digits along the inside seams he tantalizingly brought his head down, and caught the waistband between his teeth and _pulled._

John sighed loudly as his proud manhood sprang free and was welcomed by the cool air while George stared in awe. _He must be 7 ½ inches at least!_ George thought, both terrified and excited.

Putting one hand on John's hip and using the other to slowly envelope the base of his shaft, George started pumping at a slow, steady rhythm. Using what he knew felt good on him as inspiration, he sped it up and swiped his thumb over the head. Cheering silently for himself as John bucked into his fist and called his name in short bursts. Gasping for air as his skin was washed over in a wave of goose bumps, John moaned loudly,

"George… fas'er!" Drawing out his name, George shivered and complied. Quickening his pace for a few moments before removing his hand altogether and lowering his head down until the tip of John's member was inside his mouth. John groaned loudly, grasping at George's hair and pulling on his tangled strands harshly.

Bobbing his head up and down on John's glistening rod, George brought his right hand up to John's hanging sacks and rubbed them between his fingers. Massaging them tenderly as John groaned out his name, holding onto his head as he bucked uncontrollably into blazing wet cavern, George brought his other hand up towards John's own mouth. Letting him slick them up and get them ready for what would be the grand finale of the evening.

"George! I'm goin' ta… I'm abou' ta-" John cut himself off, loudly groaning George's name as he shot his load down his throat. Everything around him a sparkling white haze as he reached his climax, George's eyes were closed as he swallowed John's seed, relishing in the joy of causing the lover he's yearned for to reach his peak.

"George, what are you doing?!"

George's eyes flew open as he looked past John, where a shrieking Pattie Boyd stood. Her face showing the utmost amount of terror, agony and betrayal - he screamed.

George felt someone tightly grip his shoulders, roughly shaking him awake. When he opened his eyes he didn't see Pattie and her forlorn form standing there; he saw John.

"Wake u', Georgie! Snap ou' of i'!" Memories of his dream quickly invaded George's mind as he settled his labored breathing and looked anywhere but John. Knowing he was blushing furiously, he attempted to rid himself of those images and _hopefully_ the aching member in his pants. George looked up, his features still flushed and he knew John had him found out when saw his expression.

John's facial expressions were those of wry amusement and he smirked his infamous John Lennon smirk,

"Well, tha' sounde' enjoyable, bu' naugh'y too," he proclaimed with a devilish grin. Poking George in the chest, John smiled, _almost_ like the first smile in his dream, George noted. But that, _that_ was wishful thinking.

"I wasn' aware tha' ye liked tha' kinky stuff. Care ta' tell me abou' i'?" John's smirk grew impossibly wider as he looked back at the younger Beatle, who's eyebrows were wrinkled in concentration and embarrassment rolling off him in waves.

George closed his mouth, hastily shaking his head 'no' as an answer. Flushing even darker when John winked at him and pushed farther, and more insistently.

"Come on lad, ye kno' ye wan' ta'. Tell me all abou' yer li'le sexual-turn ons, i'll be our secre'."

"I' wasn' even se'ual John!" George cried, wanting to regain his dignity but knowing it was a grat feat to do so when in the room with John Lennon.

"I'm afra', mate. Tha' th' bulge in ye trouse's betray ya." John said, pointing giddily to the rather _prominent_ bulge in George's pants.

"It's nothi' John, if ye hadn' been in i'-"

"Ooh, so ye were dreamin' 'bout me!" John cried in a mocking voice, poorly imitating that of an elated woman.

Laughing John soon became silent, leaving George to wonder just _how much_ John had heard, and just _how bad_ this could affect him.

"Wai'..." George could hypothetically see the cogs turning over in John's brain, "Does thi' mean tha' ou' precious, innoce' Georgie Worgie is a queer. A queer fo' me?!" John's asked, his face filled with both confusion, amusement before his face split into a delighted grin.

"No, no it's no' tha'...It's jus' tha', ye were there," he pointed to John. "I don' feel fo' ya or nothin', yer no queer an' nei'er am I." George exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air desperately, about to continue babbling in an attempt to make an explanation for this whole ordeal.

"George, yer a horrible liar ye kno' tha' righ'?" John said, barking madly at George's feeble attempt to come up with an excuse for his dreams. Quickly he stopped laughing, and continued,

"If ye weren't screamin' me ears off I wouldn't've woken ye up, an' I cou've heard jus' how I fi' into tha' fun." John winked, and George gave up.

"Le's jus' finish tha' song, alright?" George asked, willing John to agree. He _really_ didn't need this right now.

"Already di', while ye were snoozin' abou' shaggin' me." John smirked, leaning into George's ear, much like he did in the dream. George sighed in frustration, this was _never_ going to end.

"I' goin' ta' get ta' tha bo'om of this, whe'er or not ye want me to." John then got up, grabbing his guitar and handing George his own. Together they both started getting ready to leave the studio, George helping John gather everything while doing his best to ignore him. Side by side the duo walked out the studio, the rain dripping upon their heads.

After a while George that John had finally let off, and just might give him grace for the rest of the night. When they were at the front door of the flat John grabbed his arm and stopped him. Grinning like a mad man John proclaimed for all of London to hear,

"Oh, I thin' I kno' wha' happened, mate; You like me too much!" And with that, the he opened the door and the duo walked in.

* * *

**A/N: Hey :)**

**Some of you may recognize this! This is actually a re-write of my original story "You Like Me Too Much" that I deleted a while back. This version is a lot better, and a LOT steamier too! [Thanks to Flipzy the Edward Slayer for letting me use her idea.]**

**(My other Lennison story, which starts from George Harrison getting his first guitar to the end of The Beatles career will be reposted to!)**

**Please tell me your thoughts!**

_**Just Lennison**_


End file.
